


In Your Eyes

by VeronicaE0209



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Cowboys & Cowgirls, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Lies, Making Out, Romantic Fluff, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Sneaking Around
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:42:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronicaE0209/pseuds/VeronicaE0209
Summary: Betrayed and left for dead, penitent outlaw turned bounty hunter Isabella Turkin finds herself in the company of the Van Der Linde gang, fresh off their failed Blackwater robbery.How far will Isabella go for revenge? Can that penitent woman keep to her straightened path, especially in the presence of her rugged, blue eyed savior, who'd stop at nothing to ensure his gang survives?
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	1. Colter

**Author's Note:**

> My first RDR2 fanfic! Suggestion is greatly appreciated!

Hypothermia..That was the only boogeyman haunting Isabella's thoughts as she pushed her way through knee deep, freezing cold snow. Surely she read about it enough in all her adventure books growing up, but she’d never read it in a newspaper, or heard about it before one of her hunts. Yet here she was, feeling as though she would topple over any second, bleed out of her left side, which was already blown out. Everytime she took a step further into the unknown, she could hear that sickening wet squish of her shotgun jacket sticking to her wound. It made her sick, to a point where she wanted to vomit this morning’s breakfast. Was it even the same day? The sky had been dark for hours, and she wasn’t sure if the sun was rising or setting. She was tired, and hungry, felt miserable. With the wound, it made her feel even worse. Not only was she betrayed, she was alone. Her humble mare being shot in the head by someone she had once called her partner, it was all too difficult to think about now. 

A heavy groan slipped from her lips when her foot lost it’s balance and she stumbled, having to take a knee in that snow, soaking her trousers even more. Isabella lifted her gloved hand from her side, seeing her sleeve caked in her own blood. Her arm shook, and she couldn’t wiggle her pinky finger. If shelter didn’t come soon, she wouldn’t make it. 

Picking herself up, which took minutes to do, she carried on, pushing deeper and deeper. Until finally, she came upon a run down village. No windows were lit, no footprints marked the snow, she was entirely alone. Most of the houses had caved in, due to lack of upkeep, or large tree branches. This blizzard certainly didn’t help. Hugging her drenched coat around her shivering body, she moved forward, approaching the nearest little home she could get to, barging in to find that it was bare. A few pieces of furniture sat in the entryway and in the bedroom towards the back from what she could see. All that she needed was a fireplace, to keep warm, and dry her clothes off. Along with a roof over her head so she could work on the wound that was near frozen at this point. 

Slamming that door shut, Isabella stumbled over to the fireplace, seeing that there were a few lumps of dry wood left inside. It would be enough for the night, she told herself, and so she reached into her satchel to get her matches. It was hard enough shivering from the cold, trying to actually get a match lit just aggravated her. She managed of course, but it took too long, and by the time the fire was glowing in front of, she was exhausted. Isabella fell backwards onto her butt, watching that fire grow more and more by the second. It was comforting really, watching the flames dance about, that tired woman not realizing it was making her sleepy. When she heard a gale of wind, she jumped slightly, remembering why she was here. She really needed to get cleaned and patched up, but her body simply did not want to move, refusing to anytime she gave the command. Instead, she shifted her free arm, hand placed on her holster, where her pistol sat. If she was walked in on, she figured she’d be able to move fast enough to remove her gun, and fire the shot. But of course, Fate had other plans that day. 

Isabella dozed off in front of that fire, nearing death, and not knowing it. If it wasn’t for the loud thump of the front door opening, she would have slipped away easily. 

Jumping awake again, she had enough time to draw her gun, but was shivering too much to actually fire it. A tall figure, dusted with snowflakes was staring down at her, his own gun drawn, aimed right at her. A black mask covered the lower portion of his face, and a hat protected his hair from the wet slush falling from the pitch dark sky.  
“Put the gun down.” The figure called, gun still drawn, and Isabella sneered.  
“You first, asshole.” She heard herself say, but it came out weak, and she stuttered every word, thanks to the chattering of her teeth.  
The figure laughed, pulling his gun back, “You ain’t in no position to kill me, woman.” He laughed, and Isabella wanted to kill him right there, she was a good shot. Hell of a shot actually, otherwise she wouldn’t have taken up that damn job as a Bounty Hunter all those years ago. Instead, she could only drop her gun, and attempt to roll her eyes.  
“If that’s what you came to do, do it already. Spare me another minute of suffering.” She half growled, the pain in her side making her grumpier by the second. The figure walked closer, looking around, most likely checking to see if she was alone. She wasn’t a hundred percent sure what made him move so hastily the next minute, maybe because it was of the sound she made, but he was suddenly beside her, kneeled. 

He tugged a bit on the arm that was wrapped around her side, trying to coax her to let him see.  
“Lemme see,” He said, Isabella giving in to whoever this stranger was, letting him get a peek of her current problem. To which he let out a soft whistle, tilting his head a bit, shifting his body to let the light of the fire help him see what he was looking at.  
“How the hell you make it up here?” The figure asked, placing her arm back where it was before, Isabella shaking her head, “No idea.” She said, that figure standing. She could see him shift a bit, thinking. He probably would just leave her, and honestly she couldn’t be mad, caring for the injured was a burden, and who the hell knows what kind of life he had.  
“Now, I ain’t the smartest man, but you’ve lost a lot of blood. You need attention. I’m gonna have to patch you up.” The figure called, Isabella shifting uncomfortably, groaning a bit.  
“ I have to go down and get the rest of my people, I advise you not to do anything stupid.” The figure told her, Isabella rolling her eyes, “Whatever, just go.” She hissed, that strange, hulking man nodding, adjusting the hat on his head, taking off. Isabella felt the split second of cold as he stepped outside, shutting her back in, surrounded by warmth. 

Isabella had dozed off again, having laid back against that hard flooring, her side oozing. Her fingertips were beginning to feel numb, along with toes. It was getting difficult to stay awake more and more, and she thought of giving up. Of course that would be the last thoughts she had in her final moments. At least she thought it would be. Voices carried along with the wind and before she knew it, that tall figure was back. With unknown faces.  
“Arthur, you fool. What if we didn’t make it back up in time? This poor girl could have died.” A female voice hissed.  
“Easy there, Susan. The boy only came back for his family, surely he knew not to leave us stranded over some stranger.” A much older, more southern voice called, and Isabella groaned, those surrounding her looking down at her. 

“She try anything, shoot her.” That same female voice called, the one called Arthur, simply grunting. Isabella heard heavy footsteps, and a lot of them. The next thing she felt was arms going about her, and she jolted awake with the little energy she had left.  
“Easy,”  
“Put me down,” Isabella hissed, that same figure from earlier shaking his head.  
“Don’t be stupid,” He grumbled, carrying her into a small room, standing her upright. She clung to the dresser he set her in front, Isabella wobbling a bit.  
“Stay here.” He called, stepping out of the room, she nodded, feeling as though she needed to vomit. Infection was already beginning to set in, and by the time the figure came back, he could tell she wasn’t feeling very well.  
“I gotta get these clothes off you,” He grumbled, and Isabella perked up a bit, reaching for her knife, to which he stopped her, his hand at her wrist. “Ain't nothing like that.” He told her, and the tone in his voice made her shiver, causing her to release her blade, to which he released her wrist. He still hadn’t removed his mask, or his hat, and with how dim the room was, she barely could see his eyes. She doubted he could even see hers, not that it mattered. 

He got to work, quickly. His own blade cutting at her clothes. Her shotgun coat, bloodied blouse, and even her corset needed to be cut through. He was respectable enough not to go another further upward, keeping her bust covered.  
“Miss Grimshaw, I need a lamp in here!” He called out, that door coming open, an older looking woman stepping in, with an oil lamp in her grasp.  
“See if the girls can give up some spare clothes? She ain’t gonna be able to keep these.”  
“Make sure you burn em’ when you’re done.” The one she assumed was Miss Grimshaw called, stepping to that door once more, watching Isabella. She left without another word, shutting the door behind her.  
“Alright, you’re gonna have to hang on to me, I’ve got to get everything out,” He explained, standing up, removing his neckerchief, folding it. “Bite down on this.” He said, Isabella looking up at him, confused.  
“What?” She asked.  
“I need you to be quiet as much as possible, and that ain’t gonna happen with me removing the shrapnel. Either bite down on it, or do it yourself.” He threatened, a hint of annoyance in his voice, and she snatched that cloth from his hands. She was in no shape to do it herself, and with the sudden tone, she knew that he wasn’t messing about. This man would leave her to do it herself. 

That black cloth was stuffed into her mouth, the second he kneeled again, not hesitating on getting what he needed out. Isabella cried out, just like he said she would. It felt like every nerve on her side was on fire, painfully roaring as he worked to get the smaller pieces out of her flesh. Large crocodile tears pooled in her eyes, as she continued to cry, those sounds completely muffled. Those drops rolling down her cheeks, coming to meet with Arthur’s hands, and that man felt suddenly bad for her. She had no one with her, not even a horse to comfort her. Of course, he had no idea of her story and wasn’t planning on asking. He figured he could comfort her in some way. They were bad men, but nothing like what had happened to her. 

“You’re almost done, darlin’. Hang in there,” He said softly, and Isabella nodded, biting down again on her cloth. The rest of that shrapnel came easily, but all the poking of the tool made her more sore. Absentmindedly, she reached and took hold of his shoulder, her strength no longer existing, and she doubled over, Arthur reaching with his free hand to take hold of her.  
“Easy, girl.” He told her, pushing her back upright. 

Once everything was out, Isabella watched him, puzzled. “What?” She whispered, having taken that cloth out of her mouth.  
“I don’t know if I should cauterize,” He began, Isabella cutting him off, “Do it, I don’t fucking care, just do it.” She hissed, Arthur taking her tone seriously, not questioning her. That male figure nodded, silent, shuffling a bit. Eventually getting up from that kneeling position in front of her, moving around the room. When he left without another word, she sighed, deeply in pain. Taking a few moments to gather herself, she noted how hot she felt, despite the brewing blizzard outside, along with the slight draft in the room. Her own mocha colored skin felt clammy, and beads of sweat rolled down her back from her neck and shoulders. The layers of clothes she had on caused her to sweat profusely, making her feel sickly. 

That bedroom door was opened once more, that male figure returning, a lit candle in his hand, giving her a bit of a leeway to seeing that small exposed portion of his face. He could see hers, and noted how pink she looked, knowing she wasn’t feeling the greatest. Walking back over, he opened his mouth to say something, setting that lit candle down.  
“I gotta hurry this up, I’m needed elsewhere.” He said, giving her a side eye, but she didn’t look up at him, eyeing the floor instead.  
“I can just do it myself,” She told him, shifting a bit to stand up straight.  
“Enough with that nonsense,” He called, that annoyance that was there earlier having returned to his tone. Isabella could only muster so much strength to roll her emerald green eyes, and that figure caught onto, immediately grabbing hold of her free arm, pulling her into him.  
“You carry on with that attitude, I’ll throw you straight out onto your ass, and not give a second thought.” He told her, Isabella looking to glare up at him, and that’s when she was taken aback. Those eyes he had, a slight tug at the back of her mind, as though she had seen them before. Those in depth blues that had her swallowing a lump in her throat, fumble over her words when she tried to reply to her. He picked up on it, and released her arm, turning away a bit. She of course had these rich emeralds that Arthur hadn’t paid any mind to earlier. If Isabella wasn’t feeling so under the weather, she would have sworn that male figure was blushing a bit.  
After a while, he cleared his throat, rolling his shoulders, that big blue coat he was wearing shifting with his movements. Once he kneeled again, he reached and brought that oil lamp closer, sighing a bit.  
“What a mess,” He mumbled, reaching into his coat pocket, for what, Isabella wasn’t sure. She was losing strength with every passing second, and when she felt that sudden sprinkle of gunpowder, she gasped. Her hand returned to his shoulder, giving hit a squeeze, not realizing that she actually bruised his shoulder underneath that thick winter coat. Her eyes closed, and she tried her hardest to focus on simply standing, shifting a bit where she stood, ready to pass out. 

What caught her off guard was when that candle met her skin, causing her to scream, that male figure reaching up to cover her mouth. He only kept that flame there for a few seconds, which seemed like minutes to her, moving to the next biggest wound. Her screams continued to be muffled, until he finally finished, releasing her. She shivered, due to the pain she was feeling, along with the fever that was setting in.

Isabella doubled over, and that male caught her just in time, standing with her in his arms. He could feel her warmth, and the shivers her body was producing.  
“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He mumbled, shifting a bit to adjust his hold on her, taking her fully into his arms. He carried her to a bed that probably hadn’t been touched in years, did she care? No, she didn’t. The second he set her down, she shivered, and he took notice.  
“Stay here,” he called, watching her curl inward slightly before he took off again. About a minute or so later, he returned with two women behind him, who stared down at Isabella.  
“She ain’t looking too well,” One called, the other reaching, placing a cool hand upon her forehead.  
“Fever set in, she’s gonna have to be with us a while, until she can manage on her own.”  
“How long you suppose that’s gonna be?” The male grumbled, clearly tired of Isabella already.  
“Don’t know, but where’s your manners Mister Morgan? Woman is nearly dying and you’re already trying to get rid of her.”  
“We got enough problems, Miss Grimshaw.” The male grumbled, the female who was standing closest to Isabella turning to snap at the pair of them, like a mother to her child.  
“We’ll take care of her, now go on and get, Dutch is waiting for you.”  
‘Dutch?’ Isabella immediately thought to herself, her brows furrowed in thought, surely it couldn’t be the one Dutch she’d been after all these years? Was she finally catching a break? No, things never came that easily, and she was sure if they found out she was a Bounty Hunter, she’d be dead. 

Thinking was painful, and before she could process what was happening, she groaned. The woman turned and looked at her, that male figure by the door, looking back. As if he cared, but her mind told her he didn’t, just by the way he carried himself. He wanted her gone, the day she could probably stand up on her own he’d be kicking her out.

Some time passed, the woman helped Isabella in a borrowed nightgown, and fixed up that old bed to be something a bit more comfortable, warm. Isabella fell in and out of a fever like sleep, only in small increments until she was jolted awake from a sound, or from her own pain. Those two same women, who she learned were Abigail, and Miss Grimshaw, kept checking in on her every thirty minutes or so. That was until that male figure returned, looking exhausted. She had awakened again, hearing his heavy footsteps on the creaky floorboards.  
“You’re back,” Isabella called, her voice groggy, thick with sleep.  
“I am, Miss-?” That male figure stepped beside her bed, towering over her while she laid below him. 

“Turkin. Isabella Turkin.” She told him, watching as he removed his hat, showing off his locks of chestnut colored hair. Strangely enough, she wanted to run her fingers through it.  
‘Get it together, Turkin.’ Her mind shouted at her, and she mentally smacked herself upside the head. That male figure nodded, “Isabella,” He repeated, but the way he said it caught her attention. Rough, rugged, it made her shiver again.  
“And you?” She asked, seeing him finally remove that mask from the lower portion of his face, and that’s when it clicked. She was staring in the face of one of the most known outlaws, the prodigy son of Dutch Van Der Linde himself, the man she’d been chasing after for years because of the price on his head.  
“Arthur Morgan.”


	2. The Dutch Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Jenna & MarinaK for the wonderful comments! I apologize that this took me so long. Gah! But anyway, enjoy the chapter. (Let the slow burn begin!)

The next few days, Isabella had gotten worse, her fever growing too powerful over her, causing her to fall into a dead like sleep. She often heard voices, some familiar, some not. More so, she could feel hands against her skin, causing her to groan. She felt sick, and even if she did wake for a few seconds, she wanted to vomit. 

Her hands often clutched at that nightgown she wore, or the rugged blankets she laid upon, getting a feel at the fabrics made her understand that she was not dead, on the very verge of dying but not completely gone.  
Miss Grimshaw and Abigail had decided that Reverend Swanson’s little morphine friend could help her, Arthur agreed, having the man sent in, letting him shoot the drug up into Isabella's arm.  
“It worked for John,” Isabella could hear Abigail say, Arthur sighing a bit, sounding far away when he spoke, Isabella coming to realize she was falling back into a fever like sleep.

The next time Isabella awoke, she wasn’t alone, wearing a different nightgown, her blankets had even been changed out. Her emerald eyes darted to the figure beside her, a sleeping outlaw with his hat over his face to block out any light that poured into that small room. Isabella smiled a bit, turning her gaze away from him, looking up at the ceiling, shivering a bit. Her fever was gone, having broken the night prior, her side didn’t burn as much as it first did, and she didn’t feel like she was dying. At least for now. When she heard the soft ruffle of clothing, her gaze was back on Arthur, who had shifted a bit in his chair. Was he really the Arthur Morgan she had heard about? The deadly butcher, gunslinger, who ran with deadly boys, causing mischief for years and years on end? He surely didn’t seem like all the stories she’d heard about. Isabella wasn’t exactly sure how many ran in the Van Der Linde gang, but she guessed it was quite a few, considering all the voices she heard in her fever like dreams.

Right now, it didn’t matter, she needed to get back on her feet first before she planned how she would take down not only Arthur, but Dutch himself. 

Isabella was trying to sit up, a loud hiss sounding from her when she felt a pull on her side, a sudden pain rushing back. Arthur must have heard it too, that man jumping up, his hat nearly falling. He looked her over, seeing that she was trying to sit up, and scoffed.  
“What you doing, woman?” He called, almost a look of pleasure on his face, seeing that she was struggling.  
“What’s it look like?” She snapped back, Arthur shaking his head.  
“I wouldn’t sass me, if I were you.” He said, lowly. It was almost a threat, if Isabella wasn’t in so much pain she would have smacked him.  
Isabella rolled her eyes, “What you gonna do about it? Shoot me?” She taunted, Arthur sitting forward, that smug, the pleasant look on his face disappearing. 

“I just might,” he threatened, and a sudden chill ran through Isabella’s body, and it showed, Arthur knowing it had an effect on her, causing him to sit back in his chair. Isabella laid back down, seeing no point in trying to sit up, at least not yet.  
“You’ve been out for a few days, but your fever broke. Which is what we were hoping for.” Arthur stated, Isabella lifting an eyebrow. “We?” She called softly, hearing him clear his throat, “The girls, it's what they hoped for.” He said quickly, as though he was caught in a lie and was covering it up quickly. Isabella turned her gaze and looked at him, was that a blush on his cheeks?  
“But look,” Arthur said, his tone serious, and low as he sat forward again, staring at her. “You’re gonna need a few more days to heal up, and well, we ain’t gonna be here a few more days. We’re getting out of here, finding a new camp. With the snow thawing, it’ll be a good time to move. There’s been talk, and well, we want you to move with us.” Arthur explained, Isabella giving him a confused look. Who was we? Was that Dutch? Did he know of her presence?  
“I know you got a lot of questions, and so do we. Now just ain’t the best time to be asking things. Not with-” He cut himself off, knowing he was about to say too much to her. She couldn’t blame him, he hardly knew her, and to suddenly give out information was a bad idea.  
“O’Driscolls?” she guessed, having heard that name one too many times in her sleep over the last few days. Arthur was a tad surprised, but he didn’t show it, not to her.  
“Something like that,” Arthur said, getting ready to say something else, but stopping when the bedroom door opened. A gentleman, who was much older looking stepped in, along with Dutch. Isabella knew what he looked like, having seen that wanted poster so many times, she could practically draw the man from memory, if she needed to.  
“Arthur, you’re awake. So is our guest, I see.” The older man stated, Arthur rising from his chair, towering over the pair of them, as well as her. He had to be at least six feet, and a small part of her was suddenly afraid of him. He was well known for his gun, and Lord knows what else. He could take her down easily if a fight ever came between the pair of them.  
“Hosea, Dutch, this is Miss Isabella Turkin.” Arthur called, the pair of newly come men looking past him to see her.  
“Quite the scene, isn’t she?” Dutch called softly, Hosea nodding, stepping closer to her.  
“Yes, and those eyes, mesmerizing.” Hosea said softly, Arthur stepping out of the way, watching the pair of them.  
“What happened to you, my dear? You’ve been through hell as I’ve heard, just as much as us.” Hosea said, Isabella finally finding the strength to sit up, a hand tucked to her side, feeling a slight burn. 

It was Hosea who sat at the foot of the bed, while Dutch stood, all three men eyeing her, as she thought up some lie to tell them. They were a gang of outlaws, she had to think like them in order to lay low.  
“Husband shot me,” Isabella called, Hose and Dutch peeking a look at one another. “We got this tip, about a homestead job, money ain’t always came to us easily, so we didn’t think twice when we got the tip. Apparently, this woman has a lotta money, and my husband, well, if I knew what a greedy bastard he was, I wouldn’t have married him. He wanted it to himself, so what better way to get things to yourself? Kill off anyone who gets in the way. He tricked me, said he had business on this mountain, next thing I knew, he turned on me. Got the gunshot wound to prove it.” Isabella said, sighing softly. It wasn’t all necessarily a lie, her ex hunter partner, a skillful bounty hunter, had definitely shot her for dead when she claimed that she would be going after Arthur and Dutch alone. She knew of their Blackwater job, what a mess it had become, and that they were going anywhere to get away from the law. If that meant dragging lives through a snowstorm, then so be it. Isabella knew everything she needed to know, about them, about their failed job. It wouldn’t be easy to bring them both in, but Bounty Hunting was never an easy job.  
“Left you for dead, huh? Bastard did a half assed job, I’ll tell you that.” Hosea said softly, Dutch nodding in agreement.  
“Well, I am sorry, Miss. I do hope we don’t come across as such a man like that. I know dear Arthur here might. We’re bad men, but nothing like that, Miss Turkin.” Dutch said, Isabella giving a smile, looking to Arthur. The look he was giving her, a hard, cold stare. He didn’t believe a word she said, and she knew it. Her stomach flipped, but she played off his cold gaze as nothing.  
“He seems harsh, but I know he’s only that way to keep you all safe.” Isabella said, staring back at him, seeing him scoff and then look away.  
“Ah, he acts dumb with those big muscles, but the boy has a good head on his shoulder, you’ll see.” Hosea said, Dutch tilting his head a bit, looking at Isabella.  
“I’m sure he told you the news, we wouldn’t want you staying up here alone. You will join us, if I’m not mistaken?” Dutch called, and Isabella didn’t respond right away. 

Staying here alone meant possibly dying, either from her wound, stupid O’Driscolls, or from the actual cold. Staying here meant losing her shot at capturing her targets. And she didn’t need that right about now. Going with them gave her sanctuary to heal, and to earn their trust. To wait for the right moment and then make her move, of course that meant laying low for a while until she managed on her own.  
“I think that would be best,” Isabella said, seeing Dutch in approval.  
“Very good, we’ll see to getting you your own tent. Borrow a few things from the girls, I’m sure they won’t mind lending you a few of their things, just until you’re back up on your feet.” Dutch said, eyeing Arthur.  
“You’re gonna help her with whatever she needs,”  
“Dutch, I ain’t-”  
“Just until she can manage on her own.” Dutch said firmly, hearing Arthur sigh, shaking his head. “Alright, Dutch. Whatever you say.”  
“Good, we best turn in, busy day ahead of us.” Dutch called, patting Hosea on his shoulder, Hosea coughing a bit as he stood.  
“Goodnight, my dear. Try and get some sleep.” Hosea called, Isabella sat forward a bit.  
“I will, and thank, I’m grateful for your help.” She called, all three stopping to look at her, Dutch nodding, a small smile on her face. 

When they left, Arthur went with them, and Isabella herself fell back asleep, strangely dreaming about that towering outlaw, and his blue, cold stare.  
Over the next few days, it was mostly just the gang settling in. A tent was provided to Isabella, one with the sides closed off, giving her the privacy she wanted. The girls, Tilly, Karen, and Abigail handed down a few pieces of clothing that they either didn’t want or need. Isabella was overly thankful for everything that they were doing for her, and she felt a bit guilty. They hardly knew her and most were treating her like she was one of their own.  
But, like most Bounty Hunters, she couldn’t let her emotions get in the way of her job, so she pushed anything else that wasn’t about the task at hand away, and seemed as if she was emotionless, and distant.  
It was difficult, watching the gang move about with their daily lives, how close everyone was. How John and Arthur bickered, how protective Abigail was over her son, how little Jack said good morning to everyone. The Dutch Boys, as she had heard, wasn’t just a gang, but a family. They cared about the well being of each other, looked out for one another, and for Isabella to have such a small portion of that, she felt lucky almost. 

“Isabella,” a voice called from outside her tent, Isabella removing herself from her tent, seeing that it was Arthur. Dressed in a blue everyday shirt, along with dark rancher’s pants, his gun belt around his waist, while his satchel sat on his shoulder, hanging down to his hip. The faint scent of pomade filled Isabella’s nose, and she suddenly realized he cleaned up a bit.  
“I’ve a visitor, how kind of you.” Isabella teased, Arthur shaking his head.  
“Hosea wants me to take ya out, get ya a decent horse. Dutch said that he might want you going out on jobs when you’re feelin’ better.” Arthur said, Isabella was a bit surprised.  
“He said that?”  
“Told em’ about your slingin’, never seen a woman pull a gun so fast.” He said, the heat rising to Isabella’s cheeks when he said it, making her look away. “I did no such thing, mister Morgan.” She told him, clearly wanting him to forget such a thing.  
“Matter o’ fact, who the hell taught you how to shoot?’ Arthur pressed on, pressing on Isabella’s nerve, which made her groan and stomp back inside her tent, gather her things. Outside, she could hear Arthur chuckle, he loved seeing her miserable apparently

Returning to him, she adjusted her hat on her head, making sure her gun belt was on straight, Arthur seeing her fiddle.  
“Will you stop that? You’re acting like we’re goin’ on a damn date or somethin.’ You look fine,” Arthur called.  
“Well, what the hell would you call it?”  
“Just two people, goin’ out, lookin’ at horses, don’t you play mind games with me woman.” Arthur said, wiggling his index finger at her, causing her to laugh. Isabella slapped his finger away, taking off toward the horses, feeling Arthur’s stare on her back as she went.  
“Which one is yours again?” Isabella called, looking at the variety of horses grazing in the grass, Arthur approaching, standing beside her.  
“That big one, over there.”  
“The shire?” Isabella asked, Arthur nodding, walking over, patting that horse’s neck.  
“I ain’t even named him yet,” Arthur told her, trying to strike up small conversation, Isabella joining him, gently reaching out to pat the horse’s mane with him.  
That woman was lost in thought, until she finally spoke. “How about Utana?” She suggested, Arthur peeking a look at her.  
“It means ‘big’ in my mother language.” She explained, Arthur tilting his head a bit.  
“Your what?” He asked, Isabella shaking her head, almost laughing. Seeing the confused look on his face made her smile.  
“I’m a uh, redskin if you will. Most people wouldn’t use the term,” She said, Arthur rounding his horse, to which he responded. “We would never disrespect you like that,”  
“Easy, cowboy. I know you wouldn’t.” Isabella said, looking up at him, getting a good look into his eyes again. They were dreamy, deep like the ocean, powerful. She caught herself looking too long and quickly looked away, a faint blush on her cheeks.  
“Utana, I think it fits him.” Arthur said, Isabella smiling a bit, hearing that accent of his, which put a bit of sophistication to the word now.  
“It does,” She agreed, Arthur rounded Utana once more, mounting up with ease, and then he leaned, with his hand outstretched.  
“You’re riding in the front, you’re smaller.” Arthur explained, Isabella folding her arms over her chest, “What’s that supposed to mean?”  
“Get up here or I’m leaving your ass behind.” Arthur threatened, Isabella sighing, taking his hand, feeling him help her settle into the saddle, her hands going to the horn. 

She felt Arthur turn that brute of a horse, and spur him forward, the two taking off toward Valentine. They talked softly along the way, but what really distracted Isabella was Arthur’s scent. Whiskey and tobacco from his morning cigarette. Hell, her own scent was distracting him while he drove. Isabella smelt sweet like lavender, and like the wild flowers that Jack brought to Abigail from time to time. This comforting herbal smell came about her, and he found himself pressing his nose to her shoulder slightly every so often, only doing so while so spoke, and only smelling at her for a few seconds. 

By the time the pair actually got to Valentine, they hardly had anything to say. Especially Arthur. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman, and to have one like Isabella, it would probably drive him up a wall. She was confident, and bold, slightly closed off, but Hell, Arthur liked it. Seeing her pull that gun when they were in Colter said everything he needed to know. She was in no way a damsel in distress, and didn’t need a man to save her.  
Of course doubt slipped into his mind, Isabella would never want a man like him.  
“Arthur?” Did you hear me?” Isabella called, pulling Arthur from his thoughts, his gaze going to her, seeing that she had already dismounted Utana.  
“What?”  
“I said are you coming?” Isabella asked, turning to head inside the stable, Arthur shook his head, “Need to run to the store real fast, meet you back here in a few.” Arthur explained, seeing her shake her head as she went in.  
Going his own way, he went to the store, but was far too distracted with his own thoughts to remember what the hell he needed. He questioned her story, the one she told in Colter, but he knew she was a decent enough girl to keep around. That’s what scared him. Would she vanish like the last? 

Isabella settled on a beautiful American paint with a splashed white coat mare, those blue eyes she had caused her to stand out more than the rest. Arthur returned just in time to pay for the horse, quite impressed with Isabella’s pick.  
“Beauty,” Arthur called, Isabella adjusting a few more straps on the saddle, making sure it was comfortable for the pair of them before she mounted up, riding out of the barn slowly.  
“She’s perfect, thank you.” Isabella called, Arthur having mounted Utana, standing beside her, looking down at her.  
“You know, I didn’t think you’d make it over these last few days. Damn near surprised me with this comeback. Just a few more days and you’ll be back to normal.”  
“Wow, I’m surprised you think so little of me,” Isabella said, toying with him.  
“I don’t.” He said suddenly, Isabella looking up at him.  
“You don’t?” She asked him, seeing him sit up a bit in his saddle, something he didn’t mean to say, but it came out anyway.  
“No, you’ll fit in just well here. Welcome to The Dutch Boys, Isabella.”


	3. Undecided

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this chapter so much sooner! I am so sorry! Wishing you all a Happy New Year!

The following afternoon, Isabella emerged from her tent a bit in pain. She was still growing used to the fact that she needed to sleep on her left side and not her right, where her healing wound was. Al low groan sounded from her as she made her way to her coffee pot, lifting that metal pot in her hand to find it almost empty. Didn’t matter, she only needed a small portion to keep her going.  
Pouring that steaming liquid, she stood with another groan, lifting that tin mug to her lips, wincing when she burned the tip of her tongue.  
“Fuck,” She mumbled, lowering that mug making her way to her tent, stopping shortly when she noted that Arthur was not in his own. Man must have started work early, which was what he had been doing faithfully the last few days. Looking around, she noted that Charles and Javier were gone as well, the three must have been out on a job together.  
Stepping back into her comforting space, she settled on the edge of her cot, sipping away at her coffee, thinking back on Arthur’s words from yesterday. She’d fit in just well here, the man even welcomed her to the gang. What the hell was she doing? There was no way she could stay here, she was already too caught up in this. Too caught up in Arthur, her mind shouted. Isabella paused, swallowing her coffee. Isabella found herself thinking of him often, wondering where he was when he wasn’t in camp, what he was doing. Was it from the bounty hunter within her? It had to be, there was no way she actually cared for the man. 

Isabella sighed, feeling her shoulders drop, like the weight of the world rested upon them. Capturing Arthur meant a world of luxury when she brought him in, running away meant cowardice, and telling him the truth, well, that meant death. It was too much, and the slight throbbing pain in her side told her that she was in no shape to be thinking, she needed to rest. So, she did, she laid back down, staring at the canopy of her tent, until she heard a small voice call out.  
“Misses Turkin?”  
“Come in, young Jack.” Isabella called, sitting up on her cot, a smile on her face. While some members of the gang, such as Bill and Micah, didn’t take a liking to her, Jack did. As much as Charles, who spoke to her every chance he could.  
“I hope I’m not bothering.” Jack called, a thick novel tucked underneath his arm, Isabella smiling.  
“No, of course not. Another novel?” She asked, Jack approaching her, hoping up onto her cot beside her, removing that novel from his armpit.  
“Uh huh, could you read it to me? Uncle Hosea is out doing something, Ma is busy and I don’t know where Pa is.” Jack explained, Isabella feeling for him, her heart strings tugging. He had both his parents and sometimes both didn’t take notice of him when he needed it the most. Isabella lost both her parents at a young age, and even when they were around, it was as if she hardly existed.  
“I’d love to read it to you, Jack. Here, let’s go outside, settle in by the fire and read.” Isabella said, standing, Jack following beside her, rushing to that entryway in a flash, excited. 

Jack Marston always brought a smile to her face, his innocence something so pure, it cheered her up in an instant. 

The pair settled in beside the main campfire, Isabella sitting on the ground, her back pressed against the trunk of an old tree, used to seat multiple gang members. Jack tucked himself on Isabella’s left side, Isabella putting an arm around him, her left leg lifted, supporting that book as she flipped the cover open, reading over the title.  
“King Arthur and His Knights of The Round Table.” Isabella said, flipping the next page, feeling Jack snuggle in beside her, getting comfortable.  
“Chapter one, The Two Swords.” Isabella said, seeing a few others walk over and join the two of them. Uncle, Bill, Pearson. Even Tilly and Karen wondered over too, listening to Isabella read smoothly, her voice confident, echoing throughout that camp, drawing Dutch out of his own tent so he could listen.

Their time was cut short when the thundering of hooves sounded, Isabella pausing mid sentence, looking up with everyone else. The two that were missing, along with an unfamiliar face had arrived. Charles and Javier both dismounting, Isabella lifting an eyebrow when she spotted an Irishman on the back of Javier’s horse.  
“I’m back!” The man shouted, his accent thick, and slightly scratchy. Isabella definitely cringed, and those beside her laughed softly.  
“That’s Sean Macguire, we lost him a bit when we were up in the mountain.” Tilly explained softly, Isabella watching as Dutch approached Sean, welcoming him back home.  
“Hmm, remind me to keep a safe distance.” Isabella said to Tilly, hearing that young girl laugh.  
“He ain’t all that bad, miss.”  
“I ain’t taking any chances,” Isabella told Tilly, shutting the book, getting up with Jack, who ran off to be beside his mother.  
“We-ell, colour me purple, who's that lovely little lass?” Sean called, his eyes having caught hold of Isabella, who rolled her eyes back at him.  
“That’s her, Isabella.” Javier said, looking that woman up and down, Isabella suddenly wanting to duck back into her tent, too many eyes were upon her.  
“Miss Turkin, will be staying with us for a while.” Dutch explained, Sean about to make his way over to Isabella, stopping shortly when more hooves sounded. Isabella released a breath, seeing that it was Arthur.  
“The annoying one is back, if you ain’t noticed.” Arthur called, Isabella stifling a giggle, their gaze catching for a split second, while he worked on dismounting Utana. Isabella took the time to head over to Jack, and Abigail, handing him his book.  
“We’ll read some more a little later, promise.” Isabella swore to him, seeing him give a warm little smile, nodding his head, hugging the book to his chest.  
“Thank you, Isabella.” Abigail said, a hand on her chest, that mother almost looking emotional. “Anything you need, Miss Roberts.” Isabella said softly, a hand reaching out, being placed on her shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze before she let go and walked off. 

It was then Dutch announced that a party would be thrown in Sean’s arrival, the camp would be busy with celebrating their gangly brother’s return. 

Within a few hours, the camp was abuzz with the return of Sean, Hosea passing around crates of beer, encouraging those to come drink with him. Isabella watched from the comfort of her tent, the main campfire now crowded with Dutch Boys, all speaking in low tones, and little did she know, they spoke of her.  
Isabella mingled a bit, Hosea putting a bottle beer in her hands as she spoke with Karen, and Tilly. The pair were quite fascinated with their newest girl, asking questions whenever they could. Karen, obviously had a burning crush on the O’Driscoll boy, Kieran. Isabella giggled, watching her gaze, and Karen caught on.  
“What?” Karen asked, almost looking offended.  
“You like the O’Driscoll boy,” Isabella said, lifting that copper colored bottle to take a sip,  
watching as Karen rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest.  
“I do not, that’s like me accusing you of liking Mister Morgan,” Karen shot back, and the second she said his name, Isabella’s gaze had shot up and found that rugged cowboy eyeing her, causing her to quickly look away. Isabella cleared her throat, finally taking a sip of that cheap beer, the look on her face suggesting that the alcohol wasn’t exactly the best.  
“She ain’t exactly denying it, is she?” Tilly taunted, Isabella swatting at her, “I needed a drink!” Isabella said, getting slightly defensive, causing Tilly to laugh.  
“Right, Missus Turkin,” Tilly said, watching Isabella take another few gulps of her beer until that liquid was gone. 

After a while, Isabella went back to her tent, figuring she had no place in partying with the gang, simply gathering up an old romance novel, a bottle of aged rum, and a blanket to sit on, sneaking off into the safety of trees that surrounded the camp. She remained close, in case something topped off and her gun was needed, it was no secret now how good of a gunman she was. Isabella sighed a bit, feeling a tug in her side when she spread out that blanket, taking a seat upon it, pressing her back into the base of a tree trunk. Quickly, she opened her bottle of aged rum, gulping down as much as she could before she sealed it back off, and placed it down beside her left leg. Her book was snatched up mere seconds later, Isabella flipping to her marked page, relaxing a bit as she began to read. Of course, she could hear laughter, and deep conversations coming from all over the camp, but what really caught her attention, was the conversation she heard from the main campfire.  
While the women had taken quite a shine to Isabella, the men, even those who'd kept their distance, did so in their own way.  
“That Isabella, she’s got a wild streak in her, you can see it.” She heard Javier call, causing her to put down her book just a bit. “I’d love to see just how wild that one gets.” He continued, Isabella feeling a bit of heat rise to her cheeks, and she suddenly rolled her eyes. It had to be the liquor talking, Javier had been drinking a while.  
Arthur had joined that group around the campfire, a thumb hooked in his gun belt, taking his own hard swallow of whiskey, "She'd destroy you before you could blink, Javier," Arthur finally said, Charles lifting his head.  
“She seems mild mannered to me,” Charles called, Arthur having shook his head, looking over at that half native man.  
“You didn't see her in Colter," Arthur replied, Javier scoffing, "She was afraid- On the verge of dying. Besides..I like my cat with some claws."  
Isabella didn’t see that Arthur had taken another swig of his whiskey, handing it off to one of the boys before he stepped away and made his way toward her, having watched where she had gone to get away.  
“You got an odd way of partyin’.''He had called, announcing his presence, but Isabella had heard his footsteps before he even said a word. That bottle of liquor was to her lips again, Isabella taking small sips, until she lowered it, “Mm?” She hummed, turning to see him, swallowing.  
“Oh, figured it’d be rude of me to participate in a party, where the guest of the hour doesn’t even know me.” Isabella explained, dropping her legs, which was propped up to hold her book.  
“What’re you reading?”  
“Hmm, an old romance novel, too feminine for a rugged cowboy such as yourself.” Isabella said, teasing him, hearing him scoff.  
“Ain’t nothing too feminine for me,” Arthur challenged, Isabella holding that book out to him, an eyebrow lifted.  
“Alright, read it.” Isabella challenged back, Arthur grumbling as he took a seat, a few feet beside her, taking that book. Isabella watched as his eyes scanned that page, reading over those printed words, actually enjoying the few he read before Isabella caught on and snatched it from him.  
“Give me that back!” She said, Arthur laughing a bit, looking as if he proved his point.  
“Told ya, ain’t nothing too feminine for me.”  
“Yeah, I got it.” She seethed, grouchy, Arthur taking a particular liking to this side of her. He fell in silence, until he heard the rustling of her clothing, Isabella reaching inside her vest pocket to remove her book of matches, a cigarette already nestled into the corner of her lips.  
“Quite a night, ain’t it?” She said, her gaze not on him, but on the moon, Arthur’s own tired gaze casting up to the decedent black blue night, those dazzling stars twinkling brightly.  
“Could be a night to snuggle up with someone, you never know.” Isabella teased, wiggling an eyebrow as she used the bottom of her boot to strike and light her match. She lit her cigarette, watching it glow orange and red, her wrist flicking to put that burning match out.  
“Want some?” She offered her rum, watching him lean forward and take that bottle, throwing his head back a bit to take a rather large gulp of that harsh liquid.  
“I wouldn’t know,” He answered, after he swallowed “Don’t really have anyone to lay up with.” Arthur told her honestly, Isabella shrugging, “Welcome to the club.” She called, exhaling the smoke she was holding, peeking a look over at him while she flicked her ashes into the grass.  
“You ever been married?” She asked, curious really, and trying to attempt a normal conversation for once. Isabella heard Arthur snort, seeing that he took another gulp of her drink, wiping a dab of it off his upper lip. He sealed their shared drink shut, and set it back down beside her, taking that second to swiftly steal her smoke from her.  
“Hey,” She half growled, sitting up a bit.  
“Tell you what,” Arthur said, pinching that cigarette between his thumb and index finger, lifting it some, a notion that said she wasn’t getting a choice on sharing.  
“Question for a question, I’ll give you the first one free, but the second is gonna cost ya.” he said, before lifting that smoke to his lips, taking a pull.  
“I’ve never been married,” Arthur told her, locking that nicotine laced smoke deep in his lungs. “But I’ve been kissed, and have given kisses, many, many times.” Arthur leaned some, returning that smoke to her, his eyes on her as he pitched his own question.  
“How long ya been married..?”  
“Question for a question,” She said, taking that cigarette from him, “Seems fair.” She says, taking a long drag, hearing his question. He was snooping, trying to figure out if she really was married, if her story really matched from what she told them in Colter.

It was Isabella who snorted this time, leaning back against her tree, watching as that smoke lifted into the night air and vanished in mere seconds.  
“Seems as though, you’re quite proud of your many, many kisses.” She taunted him a bit, a tad jealous, the woman herself never had a kiss in her life. Arthur shook his head, a coy smirk on his face, “Couldn’t have ya thinkin’ I’m a chump.” He told her.  
Isabella flicked her ashes again, and then passed it back over to Arthur, her shoulders lifting as she inhaled, “About three years. It wasn’t always the best marriage.” She lied, “But we managed,” She explained, looking at him, feeling the urge to change the subject.  
“You say you’ve kissed a lot.” Isabella said, a sly idea forming in her mind, that woman beginning to scoot in closer to him. “Bet you ain’t ever kissed a woman like me.” She challenged, her face merely inches away from his. She swore she heard him swallow nervously.  
“I like the way you brag, cowboy.” Isabella whispered, her striking gaze locked onto his own, watching his eyes search her own, and for a second Isabella was sure he was going to kiss her. She moved away before he had the chance to do so, Isabella getting up, dusting her dark trousers off of any grass or dirt she might have picked up.  
“Goodnight, Mister Morgan.” Isabella called, scooping up her rum, along with her book, venturing off to her tent, with Arthur’s gaze on her back. He wasn’t the only one watching her, those at the main campfire having watched the entire scene take place, mouths hung open.  
“Now, that's not fair.” Javier said, the first to break the silence, Lenny chiming in as they watched Arthur awkwardly stand up, watching Isabella’s taken path.  
“Well, he did save her life..”  
“That does give him merit,” Charles said, Arthur finally returning to see that every last one of them, was staring at him. A tense silence ensued between the observers and Arthur, that man giving his wrist a flick before he cleared his throat and looked down at the grass, his heavy footsteps sounding in that crisp grass as he walked, almost awkwardly, back into camp, avoiding all eye contact, before disappearing into his tent. 

The morning after, Isabella awoke to groans all throughout the camp, those who participated in the party the night prior, simply miserable. Isabella stifled a giggle as she sipped coffee by one of the camp’s many fire’s, eyeing everyone around.  
“Good morning!” A soft voice called, Isabella looking to her right to find Jack still in his nightly clothes.  
“Why, good morning, young Jack, sleep well?” Isabella asked, seeing Jack nod, “Wanna play?” He asked her, but before Isabella could answer, Abigail was calling for her son.  
“Jack, get back over here!” Abigail called from the entryway of the tent.  
“Tell you what, see what your Ma wants, and we can play later.” Isabella said, seeing Jack’s eyes light up with excitement.  
“Promise?” Jack asked, Isabella nodding, lowering her coffee mug.  
“Cross my heart,” Isabella said, using her index to cross over her heart, seeing Jack smile and then rush off to his mother, who spoke to him in a hushed tone as they stepped inside the safety of their tent.  
“Good mornin’, Missus Turkin.” Miss Grimshaw called, Isabella giving a respect nod, “Good morning, Miss Grimshaw.” Isabella called back, Miss Grimshaw coming to stand beside her.  
“Ain’t my place to ask, but would you be going out riding anytime soon?” Miss Grimshaw asked, Isabella turning at an angle to look at the older woman, lifting an eyebrow.  
“Possibly, thinking about it.”  
“Well, could you find some oregano for me? Might throw a bit in the stew tonight when Pearson ain’t looking.” Miss Grimshaw whispered, causing Isabella to laugh a bit.  
“Okay, Miss Grimshaw, I’ll go looking for some.” Isabella said, Miss Grimshaw reaching out to pat her shoulder, “That’s my girl, thank you.” She said before taking off, leaving Isabella to stand alone. 

Minutes later, she was greeted with a new voice, one that was rugged and low still from sleep.  
“Mornin’.” Arthur called, Isabella having just put her coffee mug away, that woman looking up at him.  
“Morning, sleep good?” Isabella asked, folding her arms over her chest, watching him scoop up the coffee pot and pour himself a cup.  
“Mm, going out in just a few, got some business elsewhere, wanna ride with me?”  
“Doing what?” Isabella asked, tilting her head just a tad.  
“Debt collecting, from a Thomas Downes.” Arthur explained, keeping his voice low.  
“Do it later, Miss Grimshaw wants me to get her some spices, I’ll need your help.” Isabella said, unfolding her arms, beginning to walk on over to their horses, seeing Micah near her own mare.  
“Get the hell away from my horse!” Isabella growled, Micah looking up, putting his hands up, “Ain’t no harm done, sweetheart.” Micah said, Arthur smirking smugly behind her as he made his approach to Utana.  
“I could give two fucks, stay the hell away.” Isabella warned, mounting Oya, who nickered happily, nodding her head.  
“Of course, princess, you two have a nice ride now.” Micah said, giving a smirk that made Isabella’s stomach flip, that woman scoffing as she took hold of Oya’s reins, turning that mare and taking off, Arthur right behind her.  
“There’s something I don’t like about him,” Isabella said, when they were out of the camp, making a right turn onto the main road.  
“You ain’t the only one darlin’.” Arthur called, looking at her, seeing her drop her shoulders. It made him smile a bit, seeing that she relaxed in his company.  
“What we lookin’ for again?” Arthur asked her, spurring Utana forward a bit to stride beside Oya, Isabella keeping her at a steady pace.  
“Believe it or not, we’re looking for some oregano.” Isabella explained. 

The pair spent most of the morning scouting through fields, looking for that one little plant that would at least bring some flavor to their meal that night. It was Arthur who actually found it, grabbing a handful, and passing it off to Isabella.  
“Aw, how romantic, you got me flowers.” Isabella jokes, taking the oregano into her hand, her fingertips brushing over Arthur’s skin, that man taking notice.  
“You want romantic? Best I can do is throw your ass in the river.” Arthur jokes, Isabella shoving him, “Shut up, you grouch.” Isabella laughed, hearing Arthur laugh with her as they began walking back toward their horses.  
“Thank you, for coming with me.” Isabella said, reaching into her satchel to remove an apple, feeding it to Oya, who took it happily, munched on it loudly.  
“Ah, ain’t nothin’. Sides’, ole Hosea would get on my ass if I’d let you go alone.” Arthur said, petting Utana’s neck, looking over at Isabella.  
“Still, you could have said no, and got your ass beat by Hosea.” Isabella said, Arthur laughing, “He’d lay me flat out, no joke.”  
“Ha! I’m not going to take my chances and attempt to find out.” Isabella said, mounting up, settling into her saddle, hands on the horn.  
“Damn, I was right.” Arthur said, Isabella turning her head to look at him, seeing him pull himself into his own saddle.  
“Hmm, about what?”  
“You are a smart woman.” Arthur explained, Isabella rolling her eyes, although she had a smile on her face.  
“Stop trying to kiss my ass, cowboy.” Isabella said.  
“You’re one to talk, with what the hell you pulled last night, trying to kiss me?” Arthur challenged, Isabella leaning in her saddle, pretending to look shocked, knowing within what she was playing at, and Arthur wasn’t as dumb as he pretended to be, having caught on.  
“I was not! I was simply stating what I liked about you,” Isabella explained, which wasn’t a lie, she really did enjoy the fact he bragged about his many kisses.  
“You play a dangerous game, woman.” Arthur said, his tone low, and something else was there, was that pleasure? Did he like the fact she was toying with him? Surely she was hearing things, and simply shook her head.  
“Mm, you like the game I play.” Isabella teased, moving her hands to her reins, spurring Oya forward, clicking her tongue. Arthur was silent, watching her move. There was something about her he liked, her boldness? Her confidence? That mischievous twinkle she had in her eyes last night? He didn’t know exactly what it was, but he knew it kept him up late last night, whatever it was. 

Arthur viewed her in the corner of his eye, a slight smirk on his face as he matched pace with Oya, Isabella riding her in pure confidence. The ride along back toward camp was laced in a comfortable conversation between the pair, both bantering about last night.  
“Oh, so you’re telling me if I stayed, you would have made a move?” Isabella asked, hearing Arthur scoff beside her, “Maybe, if you had stayed you would know that answer to that question.”  
Isabella laughed, slowing Oya, tugging on her reins a bit, “Oh yeah, right. You don’t have the gulls!” Isabella challenged, Arthur ready to speak his mind, stopping when he noted that both Utana and Oya were a bit spooked.  
It was Oya who reared up first, Isabella holding onto the reins as tightly as she could, a panicked look in her eye.  
“Whoa girl, easy!” Isabella called, Arthur doing the same for Utana, that big brute nothing but a big baby.  
Given Isabella’s weak bond with Oya, that mare simply did not listen to her rider’s command, continuing to rear up, until Isabella heard a soft snap, a strap on her saddle giving away, causing it to come loose. She was thrown from the back of her mare, the breath in her chest knocked from her as she landed on her wounded side. Oya took off in the opposite direction, as did Utana once Arthur dismounted, both kicking up a storm as they went.  
“Bella?!” Arthur shouted, while Isabella gasped for air, feeling a warmth coming from her right side, a pain groan sounding from her.  
Arthur didn’t bother with asking questions, his hands on Isabella’s shoulders to get her to turn over, onto her good side. The second he spotted the blood staining her blouse, he knew her wound had opened up again.  
“Shit,” He growled, shifting, so that he was kneeling beside her, his arms going underneath her, pulling her to his chest, so he could carry her and get her off the main road.  
“You opened it again, I’ve got to patch you.” Arthur said, a tad annoyed that of all days this had to just happened today.  
“Hang in there, darlin’.” He mumbled to her, taking her into the treeline, Isabella looking up at him, a pained expression on her face.  
“W-Would now be a bad time to make a move?” She joked with him, and Arthur shook his head, trying to hide his amused smile. He stopped, and leaned over, setting her down, watching as she leaned back against the tree trunk. Arthur immediately went and reached for her stained red blouse, pinching the fabric between his index and thumb, lifting it a bit. Isabella reached swiftly, and took hold of his wrist, getting his attention.  
“Whiskey,” Isabella whispered, biting back another pained groan, Arthur gazing into her pained eyes just for a second before he let go and reached into his satchel to remove a bottle of whiskey, helping Isabella sit forward a bit so she could drink.  
“Make sure you sanitize the-”  
“I know, just let me take care of this,” Arthur said, Isabella swallowing the words she had ready for him, watching him get up and whistle for Utana, hearing those hooves seconds later. Isabella was in and out of it, that pain settling in, causing her to beg for that drink that made her somewhat numb. She did feel that needle penetrate her skin multiple times, her hand reaching and giving Arthur’s wrist a squeeze, hearing him mumble that she’d be alright. That man was flushed in the face, considering she wasn’t wearing a corset, getting a look at her freckles that dotted down her belly. He hadn’t seen anything like it before, and they mesmerized him in a way. To a point where he wanted to trace his finger along them, connect them with an imaginary line, hear her laugh and tell him that she was ticklish. He got caught up in his thoughts, hearing Isabella’s groan pulling him from them, making him look up at her face, seeing that she was somewhat conscious.  
“Blacked out again,” Arthur said, finishing up his work, seeing his blood stained hands guide that needle into her skin again, Isabella wincing.  
“Mm, how’s it looking?” Isabella asked, Arthur shaking his head, sighing.  
“You’re gonna need a few days off, no work around camp, no riding out alone, just rest. Might as well pull you from camp.”  
“And go where?” Isabella asked.  
“There’s a hotel in Valentine. We could go there for a few days.” Arthur informed her, pulling his knife from his sheath, cutting that thread.  
“We?” She repeated.  
“I ain’t letting you go alone, and I ain’t arguing with you about it neither.” Arthur stated firmly, looking up at Utana, who was a few feet away, grazing.  
“Stay right here, gonna clean up a bit, get a new shirt.” Arthur said, standing, and before she could protest, he was gone, walking off toward Utana to clean up his hand with a water canteen.  
Isabella sighed and laid back fully, her side throbbing with every breath she took. Concentrating on something else, like maybe a story she read long ago, or maybe even Arthur’s footsteps. What slipped into her train of thought was the job she was here for, and how she had forgotten about it. She was getting way too friendly with everyone, including Arthur, and that was definitely not the best idea. She groaned, wanting to put her thoughts to silence, Arthur overhearing, thinking she was groaning from the pain.  
“I’m comin’.” He called, returning to Isabella with a shirt in hand, his skin free of her blood.  
“Here, let's get you bandaged up first.” Arthur said, helping her sit up, and eventually stand, wrapping that thinly striped cloth around her, covering the wound until it was no longer in sight.  
“Let me get you out that blouse,” Arthur said softly, his hands going to her hips to help her turn around and face away from him. Isabella didn’t refuse, her finger undoing the buttons, shrugging that fabric from her shoulders, showing Arthur the few scars she had on her back. He gulped, seeing that her shoulders had those same freckles her stomach had, they dotted her mocha skin like the stars did with the night sky. Arthur found himself turning his gaze away, his hands unfolding that shirt of his, helping place it upon her shoulders.  
Isabella managed the buttons on her own, that shirt that usually fit Arthur like a second skin was practically a dress on her. She rolled up the sleeves in silence, turning around to face him.  
“A bit big, isn’t it?” Isabella said, Arthur looking at her. The collar was a mess, sloppy and Arthur reached forward, fixing it, smoothing it down.  
“It’ll do, lets go ahead and get you settled, I’ll go into camp and get you a few things, for now, you’re gonna rest, and I mean it.” Arthur told her, Isabella nodding her head, too tired to put up a fight.  
“Okay, cowboy.” Isabella said softly, watching Arthur turn and walk toward Utana, Isabella following right behind him, stopping when he did, that towering man helping her into the saddle first. He climbed in after her, feeling her lean back against him, and he let her, finding it useless to let her go uncomfortable, the woman already in enough pain. 

The pair rode in silence, Isabella dozing off a bit as she rode in front of Arthur, jumping awake anytime she felt a slight throb in her side, not realizing that Arthur was holding her, keeping her from toppling over.  
While his mouth was silent, his thoughts weren’t, and he kept dwelling on the figure in front of him. How good she smelt, her bold attitude and lighthearted jokes, and God, that small tug he felt whenever she agreed to ride with him. It’d been only a couple of weeks, but something was there, Arthur knew it, and while it should probably have filled him with happiness, it filled him with dread. She’d be gone in a matter of time, and there was no point in getting his own hopes up.  
Arthur was completely undecided with how he truly felt about her, but he wasn’t the only one, Isabella was just as undecided as he was.


End file.
